Demon Blood

each person, but she sensed uncertainty in his psychic scent. She guessed that he didn’t know what to do here; a church was out of his element. Finally, he chose a seat on the back pew across the aisle from her, tapping his fingers together between his knees.
    Not as cool as he appeared. Good.
    She rose and walked toward him. He glanced at her, and she watched a polite mask fall over his features. Preparing to gently tell the old lady that he preferred to be alone, Rosalia guessed. Before he could speak, she sat next to him—and since no one was looking their way, she shifted into her natural form.
    St. Croix’s eyes narrowed. The curve of his lips suggested amusement, but it was a thin, cold smile, with an undercurrent of anger.
    She began, “Tell me, Mr. St. Croix, what have you discovered about me?”
    She knew he’d found nothing—there was nothing about her to find.
    He was careful not to admit that. “Less than you have about me, I’d wager.”
    “Yes.” And she didn’t yet know what she most needed to. “And I’ll give you more, but how much more depends on the answer to one question: Did you kill Rachel Boyle, or did your mother?”
    It was as if she’d stabbed him. Pain slashed across his face before his expression hardened into a smooth mask. “I think we are done here.”
    He stood and began to walk away. And because that young woman’s death had hurt him, she said, “My mother poisoned my father. She cut his throat in their bed. She paid assassins. She tried everything, and when everything failed, she poisoned herself. I should hate her for leaving us alone with him. A mother should protect her children, don’t you agree?”
    He stopped. He didn’t turn, but he stopped—and so he must be listening.
    “A father should protect his children, too,” Rosalia continued. “Mine made certain that I found my mother’s body. He told me that she was burning in Hell for her suicide. I believed him, because of all people, he would know who burned in Hell. Only later did I realize that they are also liars, and bargainers . . . and it’s entirely possible that she killed herself only after making a deal that protected us from him. And so I cannot hate her. I do hate him , however—and if he wasn’t dead, I’d hunt my father down and kill him.”
    He finally turned. “So what are you—a support group for demon children?”
    Though his tone mocked, he took a step toward her. Good enough, she thought.
    “I’m something better, Mr. St. Croix. I’m someone with information. You are looking for your mother?”
    “Don’t call her that.” His mouth twisted. “You know where she is? Who she is?”
    “No.”
    “Then you’re of no use to me.”
    But he didn’t go. No, he wanted to see what she offered him. Because he did lack information, and he knew it.
    “Sit down,” she said.
    After an internal struggle, he did.
    “You’ve gone to Legion. You’re looking for her in the wrong place. Legion was created for Belial’s demons, but what your mother did—” She broke off when the mask shifted, revealing the ice and hatred beneath. “What would you have me call her?”
    “A sopping, murderous cunt.”
    “Here?” Pointedly, she looked to the altar. “I think not.”
    Through her earpiece, she heard the muffled hoot of Gemma’s laughter and the rumble of Deacon’s beneath it. For the first time, she saw humor in St. Croix’s expression.
    “Perhaps not,” he agreed. “Madelyn will do.”
    His mother’s Christian name, but not the name he’d probably called his real mother. At the age he’d lost her, she would have still been his mum.
    “What Madelyn did to your family better fits the style of Lucifer’s demons,” Rosalia told him. “You won’t find her at Legion.”
    She saw the speculation in his eyes, and her pulse jumped when she realized where his thoughts were turning.
    “No, Mr. St. Croix. Lucifer’s and Belial’s demons are enemies, but that does not mean Belial’s demons will help you. If you go to them, they will do everything possible to break you, simply because it will entertain them. A demon is a demon, no matter his allegiance.”
    He nodded. Perhaps he’d seen enough of Belial’s demons to believe it. “Where would I find her, then?”
    “The Gates to Hell are closed. If she is among those Below, it will be five hundred years before the Gates open again.”
    “I’ll wait.”
    He probably could. “As a vampire?”
    “If hate alone can’t keep